


The Things I Never Wanted

by CheerUpLovely



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Near Death Experiences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 18:35:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5551028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheerUpLovely/pseuds/CheerUpLovely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver had once heard the term that some pains are so great that it was like watching a building collapse around you. That nothing else mattered once everything came crashing down around you, as if it could never be rebuilt.</p><p>He’d never thought it to be true until that moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Oliver had once heard the term that some pains are so great that it was like watching a building collapse around you. That nothing else mattered once everything came crashing down around you, as if it could never be rebuilt.

He’d never thought it to be true until that moment.

Because this wasn’t a building falling down, this was a whole world collapsing. His world, in particular. Nothing mattered any more. His target didn’t matter, which enabled him to make a convenient escape, and it was of no importance to him that he could hear bystanders screaming and calling out to him and others, ushering family away from the scene now unfolding before them. He didn’t care to acknowledge the frantic calls through his comms unit, demanding to know what was going on, then telling him that an ambulance was on the way,  and whether or not he answered between or someone else did, he didn’t know. He didn’t register his bow falling from his hand, an arrow forgotten as it dropped to the floor in his defeat. He barely recognised his heart pounding in his chest, because all he could think of was that the ambulance on its way couldn’t possibly get to them fast enough. None of that mattered. Not to him. Not any more.

What mattered was Felicity.

Felicity Meghan Smoak, M.I.T. class of ‘09.  

With two gunshot wounds in her stomach.

He’d watched, completely immobilised with fear as their opponents weapon was shifted so quickly from being pointed at him to the woman right beside him, but after the first gunshot hit her, things had slowed down. He knew what was going to happen to moment the gun barrel was no longer directed at him, but in his choice between moving her behind him and aiming his bow he hadn’t been able to cover her in time. He wasn’t going to be hit by the bullets. He wasn’t going to be hurt. But Felicity was. She flinched violently as the bullet embedded itself in her front, her precious tablet dropping from her hand as she looked down and saw the damage with her own eyes. The blood didn’t immediately spread through the fabric of her thick purple coat, but he could see the almost pristine holes in the material and she looked more shocked than pained.

“Felicity…” he found himself whispering, his voice touching heights of pain he’d never reached before.

She looked up at him, their eyes locking. They were alone now, even in the midst of terrified residents escaping down the stairwell of the apartment block they’d tracked their target to, they were unable to concentrate on anything but each other. Oliver’s whisper had stood out to her far more than the civilian hustle behind them, as his was filled with nothing more than a heartbreaking devastation that was too painful to hear. The pain rippled through her, blood starting to pool warm against her clothing, and the icy pain was taking over quicker than she could comprehend it.

This was it. This was how death started.

She started to fall, surrendering to the will of gravity when her legs gave way beneath her, but she never hit the floor. Oliver dropped with her, catching her in his arms before she could hit the ground. She fell limp into his arms, his embrace turning rigid as he did his best to stall the bleeding with one hand and hold her at the same time. Impulse took over, emergency medical training that Diggle had given him through the years washing over him just like the blood seeping out of her body.

“Felicity…” he looked down at her dazed face.

When her eyes came back to him, he could see that she was already fighting consciousness through the pain. His heart would have fallen inside his chest but it had already dropped beyond recovery and could fall no further. If she fell unconscious he was afraid she’d never wake up, not with the amount of blood she was losing. It was the blood that stopped him doing what he wanted to do; the part of him that was Oliver Queen, the part that loved her, wanted to hold her so tightly to him that it would be impossible for her to leave him, but the rational part of his mind that was the Arrow knew that he had to press tight to her wound and keep as much blood in her body until help arrived.

Her blue eyes were round and moist, glistening in fear as she blinked through it. She struggled to focus on something around her, anything at al, until her eyes found his and he held her gaze fiercely. He gathered her more tightly into his arms, cradling her head in the crook of his elbow while still being mindful of her wounds. By now, her blood was seeping through his fingertips, staining not only her entire front but most of his torso and arm as well, the rich redness staining against the green leather. He thought of all the vital organs that could have been perforated by a bullet in that location, and this amount of blood was terrifying him.

“Oliver,” she gasped, pain lost her voice as it was overtaken by fear.

His heart pounded even harder. They’d been through so much over the years but he’d never, not once, heard her so afraid before. Not from anything. He swore to himself, knowing he should have reacted sooner, that he shouldn’t have let her follow him in just to trace their target, he should have done anything to protect her rather than letting her prove herself by coming along with him. He shouldn’t have ever allowed her to be in this much danger. That was what he did. She should have been safe before the shot was even made.

“Oh god,” he almost whimpered, feelign a bile rise in his throat before he choked it back down. His arm bent at the wrist, bringing a hand to her cheek while still cradling her head with the same arm. he needed to touch her but didn’t dare release any of the pressure he was pressing on the wound. “Felicity…”

He watched as her lips rose slightly at the corners, but he couldn’t meet her smile. She always had loved the way that he said her name, no matter what the circumstance. She’d mentioned once it did odd and twisty things in her stomach before she’d blushed furiously and gone back to what she was doing. No one else said her name like he did. It had become special, even though he’d never intended to be.

But this was different. He wasn’t saying her name to her smile. This wasn’t like the time he’d broken it down into each syllable just to watch her shudder for fun. This wasn’t like the time he’d leaned over to release her from Helena’s binds, or like the time he’d held onto her tightly when they were breaking into Merlyn Global. This wasn’t like the time he’d pressed his hand to her stomach to stop her writhing beneath him in Nanda Parbat.  This wasn’t like the time he’d traced a hand down her cheek and told her that she was his happy story.

This was far more serious.

Whatever medical team Lance had called in hadn’t arrived yet. He knew there was one nearby from the radios they’d hacked that night, but they’d still have to get up to the top floor where they were and that would take them too long. He was covered up to his elbows in Felicity’s blood that just wouldn’t stop coming, and his comms unit was still screaming at him, so he knew whoever was still on the other end of it could hear every word they said.

Yeah, this was really bad.

Was this…going to be the end?

“It’s okay, you’re going to be fine. You’re going to be okay, Felicity,” he was stumbling over the words as he tried to convince them both.

He looked over his shoulder, taking his eyes off her for just a second to collect himself. He was planning on preventing tears in his eyes from spilling over, mixing with her blood, but that was proving hard. He couldn’t lose her. Not her. As he turned, his eyes fell upon the figures of Diggle and Laurel coming into the hall with shocked expressions. Their presence should have made him feel better, just like their assurances that paramedics were almost there, but it didn’t. The concern in their eyse was as frightening as the blood itself as they saw just how much of Felicity’s lifeforce was already staining the carpet.

They feared the worst, and as he looked back down to Felicity, who was already more disorientated than she had been a moment before, he understood why.

They were already losing her.

“Oliver…” she sighed, his name drawn out in a long, pained exhale.

He shook his head, welling up with tears again at her frail, too-small voice. “Try not to speak,” he told her softly, unable to even consider the possibility of losing her. His eyes were pleading with her to stop, to breathe, to hold on…

“Go… stop him…” she managed to tell him, despite the obvious pain it caused her. “Stop him.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he told her firmly.

“Go save the city,” she trailed off, and Oliver’s pounding heart almost stopped altogether when her eyelids fluttered closed. However, she simply gave a wheezy cough that frightened him into the thought that maybe a bullet had entered at a bad angle and clipped her lung, and resumed her plea. “You can’t let him get away.”

“I’m not leaving you,” he insisted. “Lance will get him. I’m not leaving your side.”

“You have to,” she told him, and dammit, how could she actually smile at him when she was in this much pain? How badly was she trying to break his heart right now?  “It’s who you are. Who I love.”

At that, the tears start spilling past his mask. She could be dying and she was asking him to leave her to catch one more target, to stop one more criminal to continue this crusade. He wasn’t ready to lose her yet. He needed her to stay. He needed to see those beautiful eyes every day, to see her smile, hear her babble, hear her laugh, hear her say that she loved him just a few million more times, and maybe then he’d be ready. He needed her to be alive, to be with him. He couldn’t lose her. Not now. Now with so much wasted time behind them and so much left to come.

Hands were covering his. Digg’s hands. They were taking over the pressure on Felicity’s wounds, freeing up his own hands. He first reached up to his own face, ripping off the mask and pushing up his hood in one movement, and then he placed his hand on her cheek, ignoring the blood smear that transferred to her skin. His other arm continued to cradle her into his lap. “Felicity, come on, please…just stay with me,” he urged her.

“It hurts,” she told him in a voice that wasn’t her own. “Too much…I can’t…”

“Yes, you can,” he told her, fully aware that he wasn’t convincing anyone of that with the tears steadily running down his cheeks. There was so much blood now. He shared a look with Diggle that only told him what they already knew. The medical unit wouldn’t make it in time. He didn’t know how much time she had, but it wasn’t enough. Help wouldn’t reach them in time, and moving her would only kill her faster. “You have to stay,” he insisted, as his attention back on her.

Her expression was pained and weak. “I love you.”

“I know, I love you too, but you’re going to be alright,” he told her, his strength wavering when he heard the finality she was putting into her voice. It was bad enough that his own hope was fading, but not hers as well. “Please, don’t leave me yet, okay?”

“I’ll try,” she said with hurting eyes, as strong as she could manage.

He started to wonder what he was asking her to stay for. For the medical team to turn up and lose her in the midst of machines, rather than in his arms? For a miracle? If he knew he could make it he’d have lifted her up and carried her to the hospital himself. But that would only make her bleed faster, however they moved her. That’s why it was too much to fight against this - they all knew - because she wasn’t going to make it.

She was dying.

“She’s scared, Oliver,” Diggle told him in a broken whisper, not releasing his hold on her wound. It wasn’t about saving her any more, it was about giving them time to say goodbye to each other. To give them this last moment.

Oliver choked out a sob at his words, burying it in his own shoulder before holding her fast against him, blocking out everything else. She was scared. He was scared. Because leaving her side meant her leaving his life, and that was something he wasn’t at all ready for. She shouldn’t have to see the looks on everyone else’s frightened faces. He knew that her blood was staining most of his upper body now, as he could feel the warmth about his chest and stomach, but he didn’t look down to see it. He couldn’t. His eyes were trained on her face, on the tears on her cheeks.

The history books said he’d die at eighty-six years old. He’d never imagined that Felicity wouldn’t be there for every day of that. Since they’d driven off into the sunset a year ago he’d decided pretty quickly that he’d spend the rest of his life with this woman, and he hadn’t imagined any scenario where he wouldn’t have fought hard enough to keep her with him. This was his worst nightmare, losing her, watching her die, and it was becoming reality far sooner than it should have. She should have died peaceful, old, with a full life behind her and grandchildren with her smile.

He couldn’t speak. All he could do was breathe, hold her, and plead with her to do the same. The shattered child within him hoped that if he was holding her tightly enough that she wouldn’t be able to leave him, because of all the times he’d told her that she’d always be safe as long as she was in his arms.

Ignoring the presence of Diggle and Laurel, he dipped his head, kissing her trembling lips with his own. It was soft, lingering, wet from their tear,s and god, this shouldn’t be the last one. When he pulled back, he made an attempt to sweep her hair back, the blood he unintentionally smeared through it clashing against her blonde locks. Her brow furrowed every few seconds as she winced in agony, and his felt his heart start to break when the moan escaping her lips was weak. She’d lost too much blood now, surely?

If these were her last moments, he refused for her mind to be in agony as well as her body. He’d promised her the world; promised that he’d replace that diamond on her finger with a wedding ring next month, promised her as many children as they were blessed with, promised her a home of laughter and happiness, promised her the family they both wanted with each other. He couldn’t give her that any more, but he could give her peace. He could give her the serenity of his embrace one last time, and make sure that her final moments weren’t riddled with terror.

“Just relax,” he whispered to her, stroking her face with tenderness he usually reserved for the middle of the night when they were alone. “It’ll all be settled soon, and we can go home,” he said, choking over his last word. “We’re going to get you all fixed up, then home to bed, and we can watch the movie you recorded last night, you can run those updates on your computer that you wanted to…”

Her eyes dropped again, and it was becoming more of a struggle for her to keep them open. It wouldn’t be long now. “Sounds nice,” she whispered to him.

“I love you,” he told her, his voice catching in his throat. “If you need to sleep now, that’s okay,” he assured her, his tone broken. He didn’t look away at the sound of Laurel’s shouting down her comms unit, or Diggle’s intake of breath as he tried not to let his own emotions interrupt this final moment. “You can rest, if you need to. Tomorrow’s a big day, remember? Your last dress fitting.” Oliver swallowed thickly, releasing a quiet sob before his eyes clouded over. “I can’t wait to see you on our wedding day, you’re going to look so beautiful, I just know it.”

She didn’t reply this time, she just looked up into his eyes, fearful of looking away in case this was their last chance. In the passing moments, Oliver spoke to her, assuring her of false promises of the future that was being ripped away from her, his words punctuated with her whimpers and soft cries of pain as she was went from lying in his arms to clinging to him in agony.

He couldn’t lose her… not now…

He watched her grimace as a wave of pain hit her hard, her breathing worsening and her desperation for breath reaching a critical level. Her chest visible heaving in a vain attempt to fill her lungs while they were shutting down along with the rest of her. Oliver merely held her, telling her over and over that he loved her even though she could not longer say it back. All he could do now was hold her, keep her beautiful eyes on his as long as he could, and wait.

And then it all stopped.

The need for breath deserted her as her chest rose and fell for the final time. The crying stopped, her whimpers stopped, the frantic movements and squirming stopped. Everything just…stopped.

“F…felicity?” he whispered.

He tried to think of another explanation for why she’d fallen so still, why Diggle was moving away, why Laurel was shouting again, but a large lump in his throat and hot pricks in the corner of his eyes told him the truth. The gravity of his goodbye to her slammed into him. Felicity wasn’t breathing. She wasn’t moving. She wasn’t in pain. Because she wasn’t breathing.

And if she wasn’t breathing, then she was…

“No…no, please, Felicity…” he shifted her hauntingly limp body in her arms. “Felicity, please, don’t…please, open your eyes…”

It was over now. She was lying in his arms, not breathing, not moving, all because he’d been foolish enough to let her step into the field with him. She was lying still now, her arms draped over her chest in the same position they’d fallen in. She was deathly pale, but still didn’t look…dead. Oliver had seen a lot of bodies, but she…just looked like she was sleeping. He leaned down to her lips, his kiss desperate and rough, clinging to the hope that it might wake her, but her lips were already colder and unfamiliar, they didn’t warm or react to his touch.

“Felicity,” he gasped out, his forehead pressed to hers. “You can’t do this… you can’t leave me… wake up…”

There were hands pulling at him then, tugging her still body away from him. He fought against them, trying to keep her in his arms until Diggle was at his side again, raising him to his feet and reassuring him that the paramedics who were finally here would take care of her now. Oliver couldn’t do anything for her now. He allowed her body to be taken from view, sobbing when he could no longer see her, and Diggle lead him from the spot where her blood was still fresh in the carpet. Diggle leaned him against a wall, his back turned from whatever they were doing to her now, particularly from the efforts they were making to see if there were any signs of life.

“Oliver…” he started, but what could be said, really? Felicity was a light to them all, and his own tears weren’t under control enough to reassure Oliver.

“I lost her,” Oliver sobbed into the palm of his hand,  bringing it up to smooth through his hair after. “Oh god, Digg, I lost her…”

“Okay, let’s move, quickly!” one of the paramedics called out. “She’s lost a lot of blood and her pulse is failing. We need to keep her alive. No one touches that bullet until she’s in the trauma centre.”

Keep her alive.

The words hit Oliver like a freight train.

“Alive,” he whispered, turning back as his voice found him again.  Diggle grabbed his arm, stopping him from approaching. “Let go,” he growled, in a low tone.

“They can’t see your face.”

“I’m not leaving her,” he insisted.

“You need to let them do their job, Oliver,” Diggle told him.

“I am not leaving her!” he shouted, even though the paramedics weren’t waiting for him. They simply moved her onto a stretcher and went straight to the roof level where a helicopter was waiting for them.

Diggle held tight to Oliver’s arm, ignoring the fact that he had just screamed in his face. “There’s nothing you can do for her right now, they’ll take care of her. We need to get you cleaned up and to the hospital as Oliver Queen, not the Arrow.”

“I should have taken care of her,” Oliver insisted.

Before Diggle could make any more attempts to move him, Oliver bowed his head and slid down the wall. The lump in his throat was back with a vengeance, choking him, burning his throat. The strength that had been wavering from the second he saw that bullet hit her was disappearing completely, and while he tried to control his breathing it was only a matter of seconds before his exhausted, terrified breaths turned into full sobs. Part of it was the relief that Felicity was alive, but the most part was that he’d actually said goodbye to her, and that wasn’t something he’d ever wanted to do.

Somehow, he got back on his feet and was blindly lead back to the foundry where Thea was waiting for them. It had been her on the comms, her who got the medical team there, and her who had clean clothes waiting for Oliver as soon as he’d washed the abundance of blood from him.

But the next time he was fully aware of himself was when he was sat at Felicity’s side in the ICU. Thea was stood behind him, linking her arms around his shoulders to ground him while he gripped tight to her hand. Felicity had been cleaned up considerably, and the monitors beside her assured him that the thready heartbeat he’d missed earlier was much stronger now. This time she really was just sleeping. The blood that he’d smeared through her hair earlier had been washed away, and when he’d tested it he found that her lips weren’t cold anymore. She was warmer than she should be, a post-op fever now her biggest challenge, but she had the best medical care in the country thanks to Thea’s shouting in place of Oliver’s decision making, and now they were saying she’d be just fine.

Fine.

Six hours ago she’d stopped breathing in his arms. Now, six hours later, she’d be fine.

But he still felt like that building had collapsed on top of him.


	2. The Future I'm Afraid To Have

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> smoakd said:
> 
> PROMPT: Everything that comes after Felicity stops breathing in Oliver’s arms, after Oliver almost loses Felicity. Oliver is more protective of Felicity, he coddles her (which Felicity allows because Oliver needs it for his sake), he barely leaves Felicity’s side, he is scared. (I think it’d be interesting to see how Oliver overcomes this internal struggle and how Felicity helps him)
> 
> NOTE: This is a sequel to The Things I Never Wanted

Felicity thinks his gentleness will end when they leave the hospital. It doesn’t.

It’s a two weeks before they leave the hospital after her close brush with death - her far too close brush with death - and Oliver doesn’t leave her side for a second. He only leaves the room to shower in the private bathroom in her room, and other than that she’s been blessed with his presence the entire time. She enjoys it, because she really, really hates hospitals. The smell isn’t too unbearable when she can cover it with wrinkling her nose at him and telling him to go shower, the halls aren’t so white when his eyes are that blue, and the interruptions of nurses aren’t that bad because every time she opens her eyes, he’s smiling at her.

He makes everything a little bit more bearable.

Only for him, life is entirely unbearable now.

–

In the hospital, he knows she’s safe.

He knows that if her blood pressure drops, they’ll increase her medication. If she has trouble breathing, they’ll clear her airway. If she is in pain, they will dull it. If she bleeds, they will stop it. A hospital can ease her pain better than he can. Nothing can get to her here. Nothing can get to her when he’s sat at her side, holding her hand, passing her water, and for a while, all he can do it sit there.

When they go home, he doesn’t feel like she’s safe anymore.

For the first time, being at his side is not the safest place for her. She almost died at his side.

No, she did die. She wasn’t breathing. She looked up at him and she stopped breathing and she wasn’t moving and regardless of the paramedics finding a minimal trance of a pulse she was completely still and her face was pale and she wasn’t breathing, she wasn’t breathing at all, and—

“Oliver? Are you okay?”

He’s gripping the tub of ice cream so hard that his stubbed finger nail has pierced the cardboard, mint chip running down his wrist. She watches him from the bed, and he realises that he’s been frozen in the doorway just staring at her. It frightens him when she’s still.

“I’m fine,” he assures her. “I forgot the spoons, I’ll be back.”

He’d said goodbye to her.

He’d wanted her to go in peace.

So he’d said goodbye to her.

He’s still trying to figure out how to say hello to her again.

–

Oliver doesn’t sleep much any more. She’s still finding it difficult to move around, so if she gets up in the night to go to the bathroom, he likes to be ready to help her up. She’s actually listened to the medical advice and is still resting in bed a week after they leave the hospital, and he’s glad for that, but part of him wishes they were still in the hospital.

She’s alive. He knows that. He’s so glad for that.

But he watches her die every time he closes his eyes, and she’s always looking right at him before her eyes close.

–

She knows that things have changed when he becomes softer. He always speaks in gentle tones to her, but the environment of their home changes. It shifts to something more peaceful yet there’s a tension in the air she can’t explain. Oliver is struggling, and yet he thrives. He brings her medication to her on time. He makes sure she eats lunch even when they’re lost in a Netflix marathon - which he joins her in. She finally gets a week of Oliver’s attention wrapped in a duvet for the first time since they return to Starling City and she loves the constant feel of him at her side.

Then she realises that’s what it is. Constant.

He doesn’t leave her. Her apartment is open-plan in some respects, so he can always see her when he’s in the kitchen and she’s on the couch. When she looks over her shoulder to decide that yes, she does want tomato in her sandwich, he’s watching her with a look on her face that makes her stomach flip - not in a good way. She worries about him.

Cautious about catching her wound in the shower, he showers with her. That’s something that they already do well together, and this is no different. His hands remain on her waist as she washes her hair, and if she’s drowsy from her medication then she faces his chest and then he washes it for her.

He carries her from the couch to bed every night. She always feels exhausted rather than tired. Lethargy hits her suddenly, and like a truck, and it’s a constant reminder of the fact that’s had major life-saving surgery recently. When she wants to walk, she holds onto his hands, or his hand is firmly on her lower back in case she stumbles and tears her stitches, of which there are many.

He helps her dress, and places kisses to the gauze still covering her wounds, and she strokes his head while he does. She isn’t worried that the scars will put him off in anyway, she’s spent too much time investing his confidence in his own body to have any doubts about her own. Scars are places that earn kisses and adoration. They are scars of battle and survival, not anything to be ashamed of, and yet he still is in a smaller way.

Every time he speaks his voice is gentle. His hands are comforting. His smile is hidden by something he won’t tell her, and that frightens her.

–

Three weeks after they come home from the hospital, Felicity parts ways with him for a few hours. They’ve put the wedding on hold for another twelve weeks so she has time to heal, and today was the day of her final dress fitting. It should have been five weeks ago, but Thea had handled everything, explaining the dire situation. She had handed every phone call for them, as their unoffical wedding planner, and re-arranged every single aspect of their wedding so they hadn’t worried about anything.

She’s nervous when she leaves Oliver at home, because he’s terrified for her to go. He tries to go with her, offers to drive her, offers to meet her for lunch after, but she reminds him every time that she will be perfectly fine because she is with Thea and Lyla, and she has no intention of missing Sara being fitted for her tiny flower-girl dress.

He lets her go, lets her out of his sight for the first time in weeks, and she feels a tug at being away from him, as if once the door has closed and their car has left, he’s isn’t okay.

And he isn’t.

–

She returns exactly when she has told him she would. She’s on a high from trying on her wedding dress, particularly knowing that the next time she puts it on will be her wedding day, and it gives her a bigger boost to get back on her feet. She’s walking a little steadier already this last week, but she’s practically gliding when she opens the front door and comes back into the apartment.

Oliver’s not there.

She searches all over when she finds him in the bedroom, seated on the edge of the bed. His hands are clasped together as if he’s in prayer, with his chin rested against them, slightly parted lips trembling in a way that grabs her far quicker than the wet cheeks and the deep, irritated red of his eyes.

The man who sees everything until she is touching her hand to his face, standing right in front of him.

“What happened?” she asks him hesitantly, her voice soft as her hand strokes over his face the up through his hair. Something must have happened, she rationalises, because Oliver never cries unless things are horrific inside his mind.

“You _died_ ,” he chokes out, and he isn’t even trying to calm the sob that chokes on that word. Died.

“Did you have a nightmare?” she asks, a frown on her face. He’s in the bedroom, his eyes are clouded with post-nightmare shock that she knows so well now, but his reaction isn’t a nod.

He reaches for her, and grips her tighter than he has in weeks. He buries his face into her torso as his hands hold her almost painfully firmly, and silent heaves wrack his body. Her arms fly around him, one around his shoulders and the other coasting through his short hair because this is heartbreak defined. This is the man she loves at the edge of his tether. She has seen him brought to his knees over fear for his sister, over devastation for the loss of his mother, in silent responsibility over the loss of Sara. She has seen him grieve, she has seen him fight, she has seen him slump.

She has not witnessed the moment his heart breaks before.

But she realises now it has been breaking for weeks.

“I’m okay,” she assures him, her hands constant motion because movement is life to him. This is why he has slept wrapped around her, why he has nuzzled her neck and held her wrists in his hands - he wants to feel her pulse against his hands and lips, wants to feel the beat of her heart against his chest. He has watched her from the corner of his eye to see her blink, to see her breathe. He has rubbed at sore muscles to feel the ligaments ease and relax beneath his touch. “I’m okay now.”

“You died,” he repeats, his voice muffled in her shirt but he doesn’t care. All she cares about is the damp patch it’s creating and that makes her heart lurch for him.

“Not really,” she said quietly. “Just-”

“No, _really_!” he snaps, his head lifting and she looks down into the face of devastation. “I had your blood all over me, you couldn’t breathe, you were in pain and then you stopped breathing! You died, Felicity. I held you and we said goodbye and _you died_!”

She watches his entire body fall against her, his forehead resting against her as if his words had exhausted him. She can’t remember the last time she saw him asleep.

“I had to say goodbye to you,” he says, his voice now small and broken. “You were scared and I didn’t want you to be scared, and there was nothing else I could do but try to make it easy for you.” His next breath is taken shakily. “You don’t know what that’s like. To love someone so much, so completely, with absolutely every single part of you, and watch them stop breathing. And then I had to…I had to let you out of my arms, like that was the _last time_ I was going to hold you. And they _took_ you from me. One minute you were there and you were in my arms and then they were taking you away from me. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I thought I’d lost you. I _had_ lost you. You’re supposed to be _safe_ in my arms, but you died there.”

She’s crying with him, not realising the intensity of her tears until she watches them drip onto the top of his head. Dying, however temporarily, had been relatively easy for easy her. She had listened to his words, and the pain had stopped and she had drifted away. Then she had woken up again and been thankful. Oliver had to live with the realities that were far worse than her scars.

“I’m sorry,” she says as she leans down into his embrace properly. He tugs her into his lap completely, sinking against her and this is better because he can hold every part of her against him. He sobs once against her neck, twice, three times, and then he pulls back, ignoring the tears on his own face as he strokes his hand over hers. He coasts through her hair, traces her cheekbones, caresses her jaw, and reacquaints himself with her face.

Sometimes he does this and she feels as though he’s seeing her for the first time.

Sometimes he does this and she and tell he’s amazed that they are together, that they’re engaged, that she will become his wife.

Today he is committing her to memory, as if this is the lasting image of her that he wants in his mind.

In case he loses her again.

–

They spend the rest of the day entwined in bed. The doctors assured her that she could go about sexual activity as soon as she felt comfortable, as long as she was careful, and for the first time since he watches her die in his arms, Oliver makes love to his fiance. It is slow, the pleasure builds so gradually that it’s more intense than they can handle, and once they’re collapsed in the sheets catching their breath, words come out that he’ll never have spoken otherwise.

_I don’t want to live without you._

_You are my life now._

_I can’t live a future without you._

_Please, don’t leave me._

–

She can’t promise him that they won’t lose each other someday. It’s a fear she can’t calm.

But she can ease it.

On their wedding night, she brings him an envelope. Inside is a scrap of paper that looks pristine, if not a little rough around the edges, and it’s a headline from a newspaper article that he’s never seen before.

The photograph is of himself and Felicity, but it is not a photograph they’ve posed for. They are older here. His hair is pepper grey, his facial hair is thinner but still along his jaw. Felicity’s hair is still dyed blonde but softer, less vibrant, and there are crows-feet smile marks littering their faces. They are aging. His arm is around her, hers is across his chest, and they are smiling at each other instead of the camera taking it. They are happy. Ecstatically happy. He reads the headline and knows why.

_**GRANDCHILD #5 FOR QUEEN FAMILY.** _

The sound that leaves his lips is one that he’s never made before, somewhere between a gasp, a whimper and the sound of deflating excitement. “How did you-?”

“Barry knows a lot of meta-humans. Apparently time travel is quite an experiment now,” she tells him. He sits down on the bed of their hotel room and she falls into place next to her. There are tears in his eyes that don’t make it to his cheeks when she smiles at him. “I know you’re worried we’ll lose each other but…we don’t,” she says. “We needed proof. You needed proof and…” she gestures the article. “We have two sons and a daughter, we live in Starling City, and we are happy. Our family is healthy, complete, and we are _together_ ,” she stresses the word to him. “We’re not supposed to know any of this, but…I was curious, and you needed to know.”

“Three kids,” he murmurs, his arm around her shoulders as his lips find her cheek. “Thank you, for this.”

“Thank Barry,” she smiles.

“No, thank _you_ ,” he repeats, nodding to the article and she realises he’s thanking her for the things they have yet to experience. Their first night together as man and wife comes with a confidence that their vows of a lifelong treasured love are true.

And if Felicity knows that their first son will be conceived on their wedding night, then that can be her little secret.


End file.
